


flying without wings

by lucie clare (lucieclare0221)



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Gen, Other, younger ponyboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucieclare0221/pseuds/lucie%20clare
Summary: he's always been known as a runner, but maybe he's a flyer.





	flying without wings

_He's always been known as a runner._

* * *

_6 years old_

"Mom, me and Steve are going to the park, 'kay?"

She looks up from washing a pan in the kitchen, and glances at me. I am sitting at the kitchen table, trying to draw her, but my stupid crayons won't get the exact color of her auburn hair or her bright green eyes, which I inherited from her.

"Do me a favor and bring Pony along with you, will you?"

Soda looks a little miffed when hearing this, but I brighten up right away, springing out of my chair and sending the crayons flying.

"C'mon Sodapop, can I  _please_ come with?"

With a warning glance from Mom he begrudgingly nods his head. "C'mon, hurry up. Steve's waiting."

I decide I will take his suggestion to  _hurry up_  quite literally, slamming my feet into my worn blue converse and bounding out the door, not bothering to wait for my brother.

I start to sprint down the sidewalk, ignoring Soda's hollers for me to wait, my eye on the park which is right down the street. My wavy auburn hair pushes back from my face, my breath comes in heavy pants...

_but I feel like I'm flying._

I feel like a little bird who streaks across the sky so fast you can hardly even see it. I guess I look a little like a bird- Dad always says I do. I'm small, more bony than Darry or Soda ever were at my age, and Dad says my eyes take up most of my face. So maybe I am a bird- no, maybe I am half bird, half human. And when I run, my bird side emerges from inside of me.

I finally reach the park, and I place my hands on my knees, hunched over, gulping for air. There's a puddle underneath me from a recent rain, and I see my reflection; my hair is wild, my cheeks rosy, my eyes bright. I smile slightly, my lopsided grin that I inherited from Dad.

"What are you doing here?"

I look up, startled at not hearing someone coming up in front of me. I crane my neck up and find myself looking at the snide face of Steve Randle, Soda's best buddy. I shuffle my feet, not knowing what to say. He hates me, thinks I'm a tagalong kid, and this situation only proves his point.

Steve and I are having a stare-down, He is a coyote, teeth bared, waiting for the right chance to get his pointy teeth into me, a bird, small, vulnerable,  _weak, stupid, stupid stupid tagalong kid who knows nothing but his mother's love and the safety of his nest his mother made for him, waiting for him to learn how to fly..._

Or maybe she is waiting for me to be the bird that is different from the rest. The bird that sticks up to the coyote. The prey who beats the predator. So I try.

I look up at Steve, my chin jutted out defiantly, my innocent eyes blazing emerald.

"Soda invited me. Got a problem with that?"

There is a long pause. For that pause I wait with bated breath, waiting to see what Steve does.

He smirks. Snorts. "Whatever."

I feel myself start to smile. I want to punch my fist in the air and scream at the top of my lungs in victory. But I don't. I duck my head down, hiding my smile. I tuck my beak into the plumes and feathers of my breast, and savor the moment by myself.

* * *

_He's always been known as a runner, but maybe he's a flyer._


End file.
